


A Ghost in Her Lungs

by LadyAsheofKirkwall



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 16:29:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19299478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAsheofKirkwall/pseuds/LadyAsheofKirkwall
Summary: In her lungs, she feels the weight of so many things stifling her breaths. It compresses on her heart, her chest weighs down heavily.





	A Ghost in Her Lungs

The air tastes different in this land. It is bitter, stinging. When she breathes, it is not honey and citrus she tastes, or even chilled wine and coming snow, but heavy ash and soot. It is harsh, near as harsh as the reality before her. 

Five graves now cradle those she loves close, four more for others dear. There should be another, yet she’s still here. She lives on, she holds her head in her hands as the tears stream down her face, ruining the makeup she uses here to feel a bit like she used to, when the air tasted so fresh. 

In her lungs, she feels the weight of so many things stifling her breaths. It compresses on her heart, her chest weighs down heavily. 

In this weight rests the golden crown of her eldest brother’s head, his eyes so wise, so full of judgment. Even now, so far away, it seems he still disproves of her, as she feels he always has. He does not understand her pain, does not understand her mind and how she aches to feel even half of what he can at any given moment, aches to feel that warms of life and faith and even  _ family _ now. 

She sees her other brother, silent in her defense. He loves her still, she knows. He always knows her mind, always wants to speak up for her, to tell others she just needs  _ time _ but he knows his past actions are still a dark stain he still carries and does not want to start anything. He is silent, but his love is in his dark eyes that still live in her heart. 

Her sister’s laugh forces itself in her staggering breath, echoing in her lungs like a funeral dirge when it was usually a tinkling of bells. She knows her sister laughs easily and gaily, laughs because she does not know the weight on her chest that happiness causes in her. Laughs because it has always been her nature to laugh, a nature not even reality could take from her. 

But they are just ghosts, echoes of a land she holds dear still. Haunting memories. They are figments in her brain when she stumbles home after one too many drinks. They are phantoms in her home, still hearing their racing steps on the stairs.  

They fill her lungs until all she can do is push the excess out with sobs until she cannot breathe, until her eyes sting and her face is splotched with red, black mascara streaks dripping down it. She heaves until everything inside her is emptied, until she is numb for just a moment.

Until their death weighs on her chest once more. 

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for ages. Since I haven't edited it since I sat down and wrote it, I figured I might as well share it now. I wrote this while listening to "I'm Not Calling You A Liar" by Florence + The Machine (the version from the Dragon Age 2 soundtrack), so I'd recommend giving it a listen at some point in time since that's also where I pulled the title from and some of the imagery in the piece.


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